What Other People Worry About
by Lolsome-o-sis girl
Summary: [The Wrong Boy fic] "Other people worry about such little things. To be honest, I do too these days. I do my fair share of worrying about the little things. Such infinitesimal things." Hanna's list of worries - the big, and the small. Implied Hanna/Karl ONESHOT


**What Other People Worry About**

_Fandom: The Wrong Boy_

_Rating: K+_

_Genre: Angst, Romance_

_Pairing: Implied Hanna/Karl_

_Word count: 605_

_Summary: "Other people worry about such little things. To be honest, I do too these days. I do my fair share of worrying about the little things. Such infinitesimal things." Hanna's list of worries - the big, and the small. Implied Hanna/Karl ONESHOT_

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**AN: Oh, gosh, please don't hurt me for this! I read Suzy Zail's **_**"The Wrong Boy"**_** (it's also called **_**"Playing For The Commandant"**_** in some ****places****, I think) over Christmas, and Oh. My. God. **

**It was amazing. It's been elevated to my Ultimate Favourite Books List. I loved it. I have poured over it nearly every day since Christmas Day, and Hanna and Karl are so sweet together.**

**Anyway, after searching on here, I realised that there was no fanfiction for it, which was horrible, because it had gotten to the point where I had re-read the scenes so many times I had turned into a fanfiction-hungry goblin. So I wanted to write some, for those who felt the same as I did at the end of this book. It's not very happy, but, if people are okay with this, the Fluff Monster will appear to write fluff.**

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**Shoutout to ****Abby0512x**** and **** chelseafilms98**** from Twitter**** and ****master of madness**** \- I was so w****ar****y about publishing this, but their kind words were like gold dust.**

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**DISCLAIMER. I do not own The Wrong Boy. I am not the genius that is Suzy Zail, guys.**

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_What Other People Worry About - by Hanna Mendel_

Other people worry about such little things.

To be honest, I do too these days. I do my fair share of worrying about the little things. Such infinitesimal things. Most of the time, I worry about the trivial things - like the damp in bathroom that won't seem to ever go away, or the rusty old radiators in the corner of the flat that don't work, no matter how many times we yell at them. I worry about changing the light bulbs when they flicker and die with a small _hiss_ (this happens a lot in our flat) because, if Erika isn't there, it means I have to stand on the step ladder and I've never been the biggest fan of heights.

I worry about my sister too. She works hard to earn her wages and contribute her half of the rent, and everyone can see it. She talks about moving away a lot. She wants to go to Australia. Or America. She's not quite sure yet.

I worry that she works too hard; I've seen the dark circles under her eyes at breakfast and the forward slump of her shoulders. I think she worries about it too sometimes, but I can never be sure. Every time I try to ask her, she tactfully changes the subject with a shrug of her shoulders, and when I try to examine her facial expression too closely, she'll roll her eyes and take me by the hand and we'll go out for dinner at the little cafe on the corner and have _S__acher-__T__orte_ like we always did when we were younger.

Sometimes, we eat _S__acher-__T__orte _with Michael Wollner, who lives a few flats away from us. I worry about him as well. I used to be worried that things would get awkward between us, because of the unrequited feelings business, but I was pleasantly surprised to find that they hadn't, although Erika says that she often catches him looking at me in a sad, kind of lost way. Now I worry about him finding a nice girl that likes him back. I may not like Michael in that way, but he's truly a close friend who I can rely on. I want happiness for him, whoever he finds it with.

Mostly, I worry about Karl. I never heard anything from him or about him after the war was over. Erika keeps telling me that we both did the right thing, but that doesn't stop the gnawing at my insides every time I think about him. There was one time, a while ago, when Michael came to our flat one evening and mentioned that someone had been in the _postahivatal_ asking about me, and, foolishly, I got my hopes up, despite Erika gently trying to tell me that it probably wasn't going to be who I thought - or rather, hoped - it was. She was right, of course; it was Vera, a girl I knew from Birkenau, who was passing through the town and had decided to drop in and surprise us, which was both wonderful and crushing. Because, as great as it was to know that Vera was well and her life was getting on track, I couldn't help but wistfully think about how wonderful it _could_ have been if it had been Karl looking for me, wanting to know if I was still alive, wanting to stop me worrying about him in those long night hours when I couldn't sleep for fear of dreaming of the past...

Like I said, other people worry about such little things.


End file.
